This guy sat next to me on the train, a few weeks ago. He smelled like death, but also, oddly, of beetroot. I looked around. No-one else seemed to notice that he had the head of a dragon-fly. I shrugged. I guess it wasn’t important.

He caught me looking, and smiled, though I’m not sure how I was able to tell. He seemed amiable enough, and said to me, “Sure is cold out.” I could only agree. He mentioned he was on his way to Frankston, to visit his daughter. Said that she had moved out of home about eight months ago, and this was the first he will have seen of her since then. “That’s nice,” was all I could think to reply.

“I’ve missed her a lot.”

“Eight months is quite a long time.” I resumed my silent survey of the quiet streets outside the train window.

He shifted in his seat a little. My stand-offish attitude was making him a little uncomfortable, I think. Before long, he turned to me again and remarked, “You look quite a creative young sort. Tell me, do you perhaps play an instrument?” I told him that I dabble a bit on guitar.

“Ah, yes. I am a bass man myself. A Gibson EB-0 is what I play. Made in 1961, it was.”

“Oh, yes, a vintage man, are you?”

“Yes indeed, they certainly don’t make them like they used to!”

“No, that sure was some axe.”

“Hah! An ‘axe’ indeed. Yes.” This had seemed to amuse him. Shortly after, the train pulled into the interchange. He stood up, nodded to me quietly, and exited the carriage with a posture of grace. As the train pulled away, I noticed he had pulled out a bowler, and sat it upon his glistening head to ward off the light sprinkling of rain that had started to fall.

“We’re on a tram. We’re going through the industrial district! How can you smell nachos?”

“I smell nachos!”

“You always smell nachos. We could be deep down in a cave, far away from human habitation, and you would smell nachos.”

“Don’t hold me accountable for the prevalence of nachos cookery in the natural world. Did you ever consider that caves are possibly the natural habitat of nachos? Perhaps they thrive down there, away from humans.”

“Nachos aren’t a species.”

“Oh, its exactly that closed-minded bigotry that has lead to their virtual extinction outside of domesticated stock-rearing above ground level.”